


Making their way up

by alwerakoo



Series: "The Bubble" [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bird Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Blood, Brotherly Love, Canon-Typical Violence, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Injuries, Night Terrors, PHIL IS A VERY GOOD DAD, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past character death (for Wilbur), Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Soft Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, Technoblade Hears Voices (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), post exile
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29733213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwerakoo/pseuds/alwerakoo
Summary: “He shouldn't even be surprised.Because really, Tommy seems to be in his natural habitat; with one hand on one of the chests in the room, the other holding a handful of golden apples that definitely don't belong to him.Even as a child, he followed one, clear rule: “If I don't see your name on something, it's mine. And if I see it, I'll simply pretend not to”, so really, it shouldn't come as a shock to him. His name wasn't written on any of his stuff after all.And maybe, he wouldn't be surprised at all.But his brother was dead. They buried him two weeks ago.And now, the very same brother is staring at him with wide eyes."or: Techno and Tommy both learn how to trust each other again.
Relationships: Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: "The Bubble" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179092
Comments: 63
Kudos: 559





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for any TW/CW
> 
> \--------
> 
> -English is not my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please let me know!  
> -This is my first longer story in a veryyyyy long time, so sorry if the quality of this is a bit wonky  
> -I appreciate every comment, they always make my day :)

Carl is limping on one leg.

For some reason, this one thought is capable of breaking through the general daze he's in.

Techno stops in place. The reins in his hand are falling loosely between his fingers, gray material stained with crimson.

Although he can see the pale light in the distance, he stands for a moment, watching his breath turn into steam.

He needs new shoes. It's the second logical thought that forms in his head. It's a good sign, he thinks.

His soles leave wet, red prints in a fresh layer of white snow.

Carl stares at him with dark eyes. Techno reaches out, patting the horse on it's neck, then grimaces at the sight of a new, dark patch on it's coat.

The snow creaks under his feet as he starts to walk again, this time much slower, allowing the animal to set the pace.

Techno is having a really, really bad day.

There are still traces of the coffee he accidentally spilled on himself that morning on his trousers; now a bitter reminder of how hard he tried to lose himself in that quiet routine that had clearly never been made for him. A minor stumble, on an otherwise perfect day, written out in his notebook.

His naive dream of a calmer life, all on that paper square.

A carefully selected illusion, deliberately ignoring all those pages filled with meaningless sentences, unsuccessful attempts to put his thoughts into words in the middle of the night, and the wet stains on some of them.

The pickaxe tied belt feels heavier and heavier, and the closer he is to his home, the quieter the constant buzzing in his head becomes.

Snow flickers in the lantern light, one of his soles bounces dangerously hard against his heel, and Techno is really, really tired.

He leaves Carl in his stable, stroking his warm nose one last time.

The quiet whispers in his head tell him that he did his best. Techno doesn't have the strength to argue with them.

The door to his house opens with a soft creak. And although the pleasant warmth that fills his entire body seems to pull deeper inside, Techno freezes on the entry threshold.

He shouldn't even be surprised.

Because really, Tommy seems to be in his natural habitat; with one hand on one of the chests in the room, the other holding a handful of golden apples that definitely don't belong to him.

Even as a child, he followed one, clear rule: “If I don't see your name on something, it's mine. And if I see it, I'll simply pretend not to”, so really, it shouldn't come as a shock to him. His name wasn't written on any of his stuff after all.

And maybe, he wouldn't be surprised at all.

But his brother was dead. They buried him two weeks ago.

And now, the very same brother is staring at him with wide eyes.

His head explodes; thousands of whispers, confused voices buzzing in his ears in the rhythm of his racing heart.

_'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy-'_

“...Tommy?”

His breath hitches as he stands up. His knees are shaking.

Suddenly, half a dozen apples are rolling onto the floor, and Tommy is already on the other side of the room, halfway up the ladder.

The chest he was opening slams shut, and Techno is suddenly not at all tired. He grabs the wooden rungs with his hands.

“Tommy!”

His soles are still wet and dangerously slippery on smooth wood. And that one second of hesitation is clearly enough, because the door on the second floor slams open, pushed even more by the cold wind, and Tommy is out of his sight.

Two seconds. That's how long it takes him to quickly walk down the stone stairs leading from his porch.

He's not sure if Tommy actually thought he would be able to outrun him. But when he looks over his shoulder, he seems definitely more scared than anything else.

Maybe he didn't even expect Techno not chase after him at all, letting him disappear in the blizzard. If that was the case, he was quickly proven wrong. Because before he's even able to run a few meters, Techno grabs him by the back of his shirt.

“Fucking hell, Tommy! Stop it.”

And really, even after everything, one thing about Tommy that has always remained the same is his inability to simply do what he's told.

He jerks his arm, trying to break free from his grip, but his knees buckle, and Techno instinctively grabs his waist to keep him from falling over.

It's been a long time since Techno last held a screaming, kicking child in his arms. So long, that he has almost forgot how to do it.

Almost.

Tommy is surprisingly light. Too light, lighter than he remembers. Even tho both of his brothers have always been rather taller than wider, it's only now that he realizes that he can easily feel Tommy's ribs through the thin fabric of his T-shirt.

But for someone who's almost literally slipping through his fingers, Tommy is still capable of delivering a few solid kicks to his calves. And Techno is simply grateful, he isn't wearing anything harder than the rubber soles of his sneakers.

Carl watches them struggle behind his fence.

Techno doesn't pay any attention to what exactly comes out of Tommy's mouth, but he's pretty sure it's something in the sense of _'no, no, no, put me down right now you-'_ combined with a few swears and insults.

He manages to drag the boy up the stairs, accidentally bumping his knee against the stone steps only once, which in his head easily counts as a success.

He lets go of Tommy only when they're inside, closing the door behind them.

His legs are shaking a bit as his feet drop onto the wooden floor, but he quickly regains his balance.

Only now, Techno is able to get a good look at him.

His face is flushed, but appears thin and waxy. His hair falls behind his ears, sticking to his sweaty forehead. There's an old but still visible, dark bruise on his cheek.

And he looks so miserable that Techno's throat suddenly feels tight.

They're both panting, filling the silence with shallow breaths.

Tommy looks over his shoulder, at the door behind him. Suddenly his gaze slides down, to the ladder going down into the basement.

“Don't even think about it.”

He moves forward, but Tommy steps back, hitting the edge of the chair with the back of his knees.  
He sinks into the seat, grabbing the backrest.

His shoes leave wet prints.

“What now?” Tommy breaks the silence.

His voice is hoarse from the earlier screaming.

And he looks at Techno, like he's challenging him, daring him to do something. Silent encouragement.

The voices seem to disagree about what exactly he expects from him now. Techno doesn't listen to any of them.

“'What now'?! Tommy, I thought you were dead!”

His voice breaks.

Tommy looks at him, visibly confused.

And for this brief moment, Techno is sure that he can see through it. Through all the walls that he had been building around himself over the years, straight to the bleeding, swollen wound that the last two weeks had left behind.

The way he held their father in his arms, the way he squeezed his hand as they lowered down the empty coffin. The way he would wake up in the middle of the night, nightmares in which his younger brother was once again six years old and just learning how to climb trees, keeping him up. The memory of Phil leaning over the baby in his lap and laughing softly, haunting him every time he looked at his fireplace. The tune from the disc that Tommy used to fall asleep to every night, looping in his head endlessly.

He feels like Tommy can see it all. And he's not sure if it's at all a bad thing.

“Why would I be dead?”

And suddenly his head gets a lot louder, and all the voices seem to agree on: _'idiot, idiot, funking dumb-'_

“'Why -' Oh, I don't know Tommy, maybe you can tell me! Why don't you tell me, why there's a big fucking hole instead of Logsted!? Fuck, everyone in L'manburg thinks you're ... Tubbo and Phil ... Oh shit, Phil.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling. He's almost certain that Tommy's red cheeks are now not just from exhaustion.

“We had a fucking funeral! Where the fuck have you been?!”

Tommy pushes himself harder into the back of the chair, but then sits up straight again with clearly faked confidence.

“In my room.”

“In your- what?”

“Under the basement.”

The wind outside the window hits the glass, making a soft noise.

“This is my home!”

“Not anymore.”

Tommy looks away, staring at the wet stains forming underneath his shoes.

“I thought..." He murmurs, and Techno exhales loudly, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “That you left. I wanted to ...” He suddenly clenches his jaw, wrinkling his nose, tips of his ears red. “I was hungry.”

Techno closes his eyes. Some hidden, small part of him wants to grab Tommy, hold in his arms and never let him go; never let him slip out of his grip again, scared that he'll disappear again.

The larger past of him however, wants to break his neck.

He doesn't do any of those things.

“I did leave. I had ...” only now he's reminded of the pickaxe at his side, still staining his pants with traces of blood. “A few things to do.”

He wants to stop there, but all the frustration and anger that has been boiling up in him for the last few hours is finally finding it's way out.

“Your friends came over. Quackity, Fundy and ... The tall one.”

“Ranboo.”

“Whatever. They wanted to make me a nice, public execution, how kind of them. But as you can see,” he rests his hand on the handle of the pickaxe. “It didn't really work out.”

He's not entirely sure why he's telling him all of that. And why he's deliberately not including Tubbo in his story.

Maybe because Tommy's face is slowly turning pale, and while he tries to hide it, his jaw clenches, and Techno somehow can't bring himself to go into more details.

Or maybe because the last thing he wants right now, is to make his brother choose the 'good side' in this story. Especially since he knows very well, which one of them would lose in that fight.

Tommy opens his mouth to say something, but his expression shifts suddenly. He frowns and stares at the floor.

“Fundy?”

Techno grips his weapon tighter.

“Fundy.”

“Oh.”

Techno couldn't have said it better.

Because really, it was impossible to describe what he felt when the same boy he carried in his arms, read bedtime stories and taught how to skip rocks, tied his hands behind his back.

_“Your father would be ashamed,” he told him, before making sure for the last time, that the familiar weight of the golden totem (on which his life was now depended on) was still safely tucked in his pocket._

_Fundy looked at him, and though his eyes seemed wet, his voice was sharp and determined._  
_“I don't have a father.”_

Tommy flinches, and only now does Techno notice his pale fingers, red nose, and a few fresh, wet spots on his trousers. And though Tommy is clearly trying to hide it, his shoulders tremble slightly.

“Are you cold?” he asks and without waiting for an answer he reaches to undo his cloak.

Tommy's eyes widen, pushing himself further into the back of the chair.

“N-no! I don't want to- I mean, uhm. You're covered in blood.”

Techno slowly lowers the hand.

“Oh. Yeah. I should ... Give me a moment.”

He wipes the dirt off his palms on his pants before reaching into the chest next to the entrance door.

It takes him only a moment to push Phil's coat and shirt he was supposed to patch up a month ago aside, but every second suddenly feels unusually long. As at every moment he's not looking at Tommy, he could just disappear from his sight again, evaporate right behind his back. And this time for good.

Tommy is sitting where he left him, when he turns around. Techno lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in.

“There” he throws his old cloak at him; it falls at his feet. “Phil was tried restoring it sometime ago, so it should ... Oh fuck, Phil!”

He stands up suddenly.

Tommy strokes the red fabric with his hands, staring at it in disbelief.

“I'll send him a message. I guess ... Don't look at it like that, just put it on. I'm not giving you another funeral if you get pneumonia.”

The corners of Tommy's mouth turning up slightly.

“Thanks.”

And despite the fact that a thousand thoughts are buzzing in his head, Techno doesn't express any of them.

Voices whisper kind, soft words that he never says out loud. He doesn't have to.

Because it's easier to show. In his every gesture, like helping Tommy tie the cape under his chin. Placing a cup of hot tea in front of him without even having to ask what his favorite is. How he rests his hands on his back, later letting himself sink into Phil's embrace.

He doesn't say it, but sometime after Tommy lies down in his bed, Techno opens the bedroom door, silently watching over the sleeping figure, buried between his sheets.

And he really hopes Tommy can hear his silent 'I love you'.

  
****

But maybe he didn't show it as clearly as he thought.

Because the next morning, Tommy stops halfway down the stairs, bare feet on the stone steps, looking at them and frowning slightly.

Phil turns to face him. His eyes are tired, the bags under them visible and purple.

Techno stretches, feeling familiar sleepiness flow through his body.

His muscles have been demanding a good rest ever since he had somehow managed to lead Carl out of the sewerage system. But he fully realized exhausted he was, when he closed his bedroom door behind him, leaving Tommy alone to sleep.

But all the thoughts of a well-deserved left his mind the moment he saw Phil, leaning over the table, face hidden in his hands.

Phil needed to talk. So Techno listened.

He listened, washing the blood off his face, hands and nails; staring at the crimson water flowing down the sink drain.

And there was a lot to talk about.

About how his father is now a criminal, for trying to save his son's life.

About how he regretted throwing away all the gifts he got after the second funeral, because now at least Tommy would have some chocolate out of it.

About how much Ghostbur became attached to his new sheep-companion.

“Your hair,” he said as Techno wiped his face with the towel one last time.

And with no hesitation, Techno leaned over the sink again, letting the men untangle his hair and wash away any dried blood. Phil brushed back a few loose strands, resting his hand on his cheek for a moment, rubbing his thumb near his jawline. He gave him a faint smile.

And although it was his hair that was pulled back into a tight braid a few moments later, he felt like Phil needed it more than he did.

And as he put on a fresh shirt and a pair of pants, the thought of sleeping seemed more and more distant. He made tea, more to keep his hands occupied than to actually drink it. Phil finished his drink in three sips.

He went to check on Tommy three times, feeling the same sense of relief flood over him as he listened to his slow breathing.

But now, in the rays of the rising sun, Tommy doesn't really look all that calm anymore.

“Did you sleep well?” Phil asks, putting on a smile

Tommy looks at him, then at Techno, stepping from foot to foot, but not moving any further down the stairs.

“It's cold as fuck, isn't it?” he says instead of answering.

Techno winces slightly at the sight of his old T-shirt and ripped pants. The thought of putting them away for good (preferably somewhere in his fireplace) sounded very promising since yesterday's evening. Because really, at this moment they seemed to be keep in one piece by willpower and dirt only, and there are more holes in them than the actual material.

But Tommy fell asleep practically the moment his head hit the pillow, and the thought of deliberately keeping him awake for even a minute longer or undressing him while he was unconscious both sounded ... Inappropriate in their situation.

“I'll find you some warm clothes. Hold on.”

Tommy opens his mouth, but Techno is already getting up from the table, going to the chest next to the fireplace.

When Tommy disappears upstairs, now with a fresh pile of clothes in his hands, Phil turns to Techno, frowning.

“Did you see how skinny he is?”

Five minutes later, Tommy stands in the same spot on the stairs, but this time looking at him seems much easier.

The old shirt is clearly too big for him and Tommy had to stuff it into his pants, held up by a thick belt.

“Your clothes are shitty,” Tommy says, adjusting his collar.

The newly exposed collarbone reveals another bruise, spreading beneath the white fabric, down his chest.

“You don't have to wear it.”

“Fuck off. They're mine now. ” and, as if to prove his point, clenches his fingers on the white material falling beneath his knuckles

Phil laughs softly.

“I think it's time for breakfast. Are you hungry?” He asks, standing up

He bends over the table top, quickly extinguishing the almost burned out candle that Techno has completely forgotten about. A few drops of wax had dripped down onto the table, drying between the wooden boards.

“No.”

Phil freezes for a moment, his wings drooping slightly. His face changes for a split second, too fast for Techno to catch it.

“No?”

“I'm not hungry.”

Techno doesn't even doubt it. Tommy's nervously clenching his fingers and avoiding eye contact, and while he is not sure what is occupying his brother's mind at this very moment, eating is certainly one of them.

But there's a big line between what you want to do, and what you need to do when your trouser leg is almost twice as wide as your calf.

“That's your problem," Techno says, and Tommy winces slightly. “Because I am.”

Tommy rolls his eyes but eventually walks down the stairs, pausing awkwardly in front of the table.

“Techno, can you help set the table?” Phil asks and without waiting for an answer he turns towards the kitchen; when he passes Tommy he stops suddenly. “Are you sure you're not hungry?”

His tone of voice is soft and familiar, and Tommy opens his mouth to reply.

But then Phil holds out his hand to touch his face.

And suddenly, something in the air shifts, and Tommy jumps back, hitting his back against the table-top, staring at Phil with wide eyes.

Techno freezes, his hand on the back of the chair.

And for once, the voices in his head are silent.

One of the empty cups bounces against wooden surfaces with a soft clink.

Phil's hand drops to his side.

A moment passes. Tommy straightens up, his face tense and red.

“Uhm. Maybe I'll have something to eat too.”

Though he's clearly trying his best to sound confident, his fingers grasp the edge of the table nervously.

Phil doesn't say anything.

Techno isn't sure what he would call this mixture of fear, anxiety and pure shock on his face, but Tommy's emotions are easy to read.

Embarrassment.

The wind outside the window moves the tall trees in the distance.

“I'll bring the plates,” Techno breaks the silence.

Minutes later, he begins to regret saying anything at all.

He doesn't remember the last time he took part in such an awkward 'event'. Phil turns his spoon in his fingers, every now and then looking at Tommy, who slowly tears off little pieces of his bread, his eyes hazy and staring at the falling snow behind the glass window.

Phil opens his mouth a few times, but doesn't say anything.

And while he's definitely trying to hide it, Techno realizes they're both staring at the same pale bruise on Tommy's cheek.

Nobody talks until Tommy finally swallows the last bit of bread.

“Thanks.” He pushes his chair back, and Techno is certain he scratched the floor with it

“Tommy-”

Techno is pretty sure he knows what Phil wants to ask. And clearly, Tommy knows too.

“I need to get some things from my room,” he interrupts him.

Techno frowns.

“I'll help you,” he says, standing up

Because even though it's actually one of the last things he wants to do now (the top one was definitely finishing his soup in peace), it's getting harder to ignore the voices, whispering _'Tommy, Tommy, Tommy? Tommy- '_ in his ear.

Tommy winces slightly.

“I don't need-”

“I insist,” he says only half-jokingly, quickly looking over at Phil one last time. “Where exactly is your room?”

And ten minutes later, as he stares into the hole in the stone floor of his basement, he really doesn't know what he was expecting.

In fact, when you think about it, 'living in a little cave below someone's house like a raccoon' sounded like something extremely strange and probably illegal. And very much something Tommy would do.

Tommy crouches at the edge, nervously turning the loose piece of cobblestone over in his hands. He's silent for a long moment, staring blankly at the clearly unstable latter leading down. Techno pushes a few loose hairs off his face.

“Should I go first or what?” Techno asks

Tommy doesn't answer, but wrinkles his nose, obviously irritated. He turns around still couching, his gaze shifting to the opposite corner of the room.

“I was wondering,” he says “how did you even get that cow here?”

Techno follows his gaze.

Bob is lying down on his patch of fresh grass, his back rising and falling down in a quiet rhythm, clearly unbothered by their presence.

“You don't need to know that.”

“What the fuck do you even need a cow for?”

“It's actually a bull,” he corrects him, leaning against the stone wall. “You know, it's hard to tell with them. I wanted the milk, but when I realized that's not happening... I don't know, I didn't want to just get rid of him like that. So he just stayed.”

Suddenly Tommy looks at him with a smirk on his face.

“To keep you company? Well, you do have a lot in common. Did you know you have very similar ears?”

Techno inhales loudly, feeling his cheeks turn red.

“I don't know if you are blind or just stupid, but Bob has cow ears. I don't.”

Tommy bursts out laughing. He sits cross-legged on the floor, resting his chin on the piece of cobblestone he's still holding in his hands.

After a moment, he frowns.

“'Bob?”

“That's his name," he mumbles in response still visibly irritated, ears twitching slightly

“That's a shit name.”

Techno rolls his eyes.

“Then how would you call him?

“Clementine” he answers without hesitating and Techno laughs.

“He's a boy.”

Tommy shrugs.

That doesn't mean he can't be a Clementine.”

“... I guess.”

They're both silent for a moment.

And it's peaceful, relaxed. Not really awkward, like during breakfast. Techno grits his teeth a bit at the thought of his unfinished soup, which must be completely cold by now.

“Wouldn't it be better for him to be outside?”

He looks at his brother, who's still looking over at the animal.

“He would freeze,” he replies.

“But Carl is fine.”

“Carl was born to live in the cold. Random cows aren't. Are we here for your stuff or to discuss the different genetics of my pets?”

He regrets it as soon as he says it.

The smile immediately disappears from Tommy's face, and he looks as tired and scared as he did the night before.

Techno purses his lips, shifting from one foot to another.

“I mean, um. We don't have to...”

He stops, because Tommy leaves the piece of cobblestone on the floor with a soft clatter, slowly sliding down the hole, hands clasped on the rungs of the ladder. Techno follows him without saying a word.

It's dark. Dark and cold, he immediately realizes.

And as he lights a torch, he can feel something inside him twist.

Techno doesn't know what he expected.

But this is definitely not it.

Damp stone walls, closing in too soon for anyone's comfort. He bows his head, so he doesn't hit the ceiling, shifting his gaze from the old blanket and pillow discarded on the stone floor, to the chest standing next to it. The air is heavy, filling his mouth with the taste of metal.

The voices are loud, whispers full of frustration, shock, disbelief. Constant humming, rumbling, the same words, looped over and over again.

_'Tommy, Your Tommy, Why? Tomm-'_

“... Tommy?”

Tommy turns to face him, biting his lip.

And suddenly he seems so small. In oversized clothes, between the cold and damp in which he spent the last two weeks. His hands are scarred; most of them are old, but he sees a few new ones as well. Deep cuts from metal, sharp stones. Burn marks.

Tommy's expression changes suddenly.

“Don't look at me like that.”

He crouches down beside the chest, opening it with a soft creak.

The cold stone under the fingers reminds Techno of something familiar, old but painful wound, still aching.

 _'Pogtopia'_ whispers one voice.

_'Pogtopia, Wilbur, Tommy ...'_

Tommy gets up. Something on his neck shimmers in the torchlight before he quickly tucks it under the collar of his shirt.

“We can go. That's all i wanted.”

Techno doesn't move.

“It's ...” his hands shake. “This is not your room.”

Tommy frowns, but Techno doesn't stop.

“We can ... We can turn the storage upstairs into a bedroom. I only keep some useless junk there anyway. It's a little dusty, but it's ... It's fine.”

His voice is hoarse and shaky. He speaks aloud, but still fails to drown out the shouts, commands, requests, questions in his head.

“Techno ... What are you talking about?”

“Tommy.”

He reaches out, grabbing his arm. Tommy flinches violently, but this time he doesn't back away.  
Techno swallows hard.

“You ...” A million thoughts that do not belong to him circle around in his mind “You'll stay with me and Phil. Right? I can ... I'll make you a proper bedroom.”

Tommy looks confused but doesn't move.

“Well... If that means you're not throwing me out...” he laughs nervously.

Techno squeezes his eyes shut.

_'Tommy, Tommy, Dad? Tommy-'_

“No,” he whispers. “Say ... Say that you'll stay. That you're safe.”

Tommy opens his mouth, then closes it; the arm underneath Techno's hand is still tense. In the light of the torch he can clearly see the dark mark on his cheek.

“Please,” he begs quietly. “I just want them to stop.”

Tommy's face suddenly softens. He visibly relaxes, familiar warmth in his eyes.

He takes his arm off his shoulder but doesn't let go of it, entwining their fingers together, like he used to do when he was still small and easy to lose in a crowd of people.

“It's okay,” he says softly, but his voice is louder than all the others. “It's fine. I'm fine...”


	2. Chapter 2

When Tommy was eight, he fell seriously ill for the very first time. Techno still remembers it so clearly.

Barking cough that woke him up in the middle of the night. The three matches he wasted before he managed to light the candle on his bedside table. The sleepy face of Wilbur as he passed him in the hallway outside Tommy's bedroom.

“Croup,” Phil said as they opened the wooden door, resting a hand on his son's back to help him sit up.

Knowing that the thing had a name did little to help Techno as he stood frozen in the doorway, watching his little brother choke on his own saliva and phlegm, bent over the bowl Phil held on his lap.

“I can't leave him, he might start choking,” he looked up at both his sons. “Wilbur, take the horse and go get the doctor. Knock until he wakes up. Hell, break the window if you have to. Techno, bring me a fresh towel.”

In the time it took Techno to digest what he was told, Wilbur had already put on coat and boots over his blue pajamas, running out of the house with a saddle in his arms.

Candle wax dripped on his trembling fingers as he tried to unlock the cabinet.

And as he stood there, staring at Tommy's red face, listening to his wheezing breath, he realized he had never felt that helpless.

And tho three days later, Tommy was running around their backyard, smiling and laughing, Techno never forgot about that feeling.

And apparently he was never allowed to forget.

Because Tommy has nightmares.

The first time it happened, Techno jumped out of bed, completely awoken by a sudden, short scream.

But as he burst into Tommy's bedroom, oil lamp in one hand and his axe in the other, he quickly realized that his brother was in fact - not being murdered after all.

He was sitting on his bed, face hidden in his hands. And he was crying.

Techno froze, and when Tommy looked up, his eyes were red and swollen, cheeks wet and flushed.

The buzzing in his head quickly turned into a meaningless string of worried and confused voices, pounding through his head, mingling with his own thoughts, which were also suddenly way too loud.

_'Tommy, Tommy, Sad? Why? Tommy-'_

“Tommy? You alright?”

It was a very stupid and very pointless question, because just looking at the boy already gave a clear answer.

Tommy nodded.

“Yeah. It's just…” His voice was hoarse and strangely quiet

But he didn't finish, suddenly silent, staring over his shoulder.  
  
Techno turned around to look at Phil standing behind him, feathers fluffed up and a very concerned look on his face.

“What happened?” He asked, still a bit sleepy, moving past Techno to get a better view of the inside of the bedroom.

Tommy quickly rubbed his cheeks with his hands, but that didn't help much.

“I had a bad dream. It's nothing…” he murmured, staring at his lap.

“Oh, sweetie...”

Phil sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his arms.

Tommy wasn't sick. He wasn't choking, there was no doctor around, and Phil wasn't telling him over and over to not stop coughing.

And yet, watching Tommy melt in their father's embrace, burying his face in his shoulder and clenching his fingers on the back of his shirt, the very same feeling he felt all those years ago came over him.

Helplessness.

Phil stayed with Tommy until morning, eventually falling asleep by his side, holding him close with his wings. Techno knew that, because that's how he found them the next morning.

Because as soon as Tommy's breathing began to slow down, he carefully moved back into the corridor, leaving his lamp behind. He returned to his room, sunk down on the bed and listened to the hundreds of contradicting voices rumbling in his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut, though he was well aware that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again that night.

Phil was everything he couldn't be and everything Tommy needed now. And he knew that.

But still, couldn't help but to feel guilty.

***

“Phil's upset,” he says one morning, watching Tommy draw back his bow.

Tommy looks away from the makeshift target Techno carved into a nearby tree, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

White snowflakes cover his fair hair and eyelashes.

“Why?”

“Because of you.”

It sounds far more accusing than he wanted it too, but the frustration that had been building up inside him for the last few days was getting harder to ignore.

“... Oh.”

Tommy grimaces. He lowers the bow, loosening the string.

“Listen,” Techno sighs, crossing his arms. “I get that you're going through your... rebellious faze or something, and you think you're all grown up now, but you know what dad's like. And you really could try and be nicer to him.”

While Techno usually tries to understand Tommy (with an emphasis on 'tries'), and Phil's behavior itself tends to be a bit annoying, he can't help but feel annoyed at his brother.

The look on Phil's face, every time Tommy avoided his touch, slipping away from his arms. The way he held him close on those nights when Tommy woke up crying, because it's the only time his son would let him do that. His wings instinctively raising, to wrap around Tommy's back, only for Phil to stop himself halfway.

All of that definitely felt more important than any amount of embarrassment he felt, when Phil leans over him sometimes, cupping his face with his hands and kissing the top of his head.

Tommy wrinkles his nose.

“I don't know what you mean.

“You do,” he says simply.

Tommy looks away, snorting.

“Like he suddenly cares...”

 _'You sleep next to him every night,'_ he wants to say. A soft whisper tells him it's not a good idea.

“Tommy.”

“He should have visited me more often then, if he was so starved for affection.”

Techno raises his eyebrows slightly.

“And how exactly do imagine he would do that?”

Tommy purses his lips, his fingers gripping the bow tightly. He kicks the ground with one of his shoes.

“I don't know, on foot?” he mumbles, a little louder than before

“You know very well that's what he would do, if he could.”

He stops holding back his anger now, letting slip into his tone of voice.

Techno was able to forgive his brother a lot. His tendency to blame him for all his (and L'manburg's) problems, his obnoxious sense of humor, and how he criticized absolutely everything he cooked, even if it wasn't even all that bad.

When it comes to Phil however – it's a different story.

Something on Tommy's face changes suddenly. He looks up, staring at him with confusion, frowning.

“What do you mean 'if he could'?”

“Contrary to popular belief,” Techno sighs “Phil is not omniscient.”

“I... What?”

They both stare at each other in silence for a moment. Tommy is clearly waiting for a some sort of answer, but Techno's not sure what the question is.

“How was he supposed to know where you were?” he guesses

And apparently he guesses right, because Tommy is frowning again, his gaze strangely absent.

“I ... He didn't know where I was?”

“No one did. Well,” he shrugs “nobody except Dream, I guess.”

Tommy turns pale and Techno grabs his arm tightly as his knees buckle suddenly.

“I thought ... Oh.”

Hundreds of voices whispering in his mind.

 _'Didn't know?'_ asks one of them, quietly.

 _'Tommy'_ adds another, less helpful one.

“You never wondered by nobody was visiting you?” He asks, sighing with relief when Tommy covers his hand with his own and doesn't flinch

“I don't know,” he whispers, voice small. “I thought... They didn't care.”

“Trust me, if Phil could, he would never leave you there alone.''

And it's not even an exaggeration.

Because while Techno tried not to think about it too hard, Phil's started to smile again only a few days ago. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, he didn't miss the way he stared at their family photo every now and then, the old one hidden in his coat pocket. Or how only lately his eyes stopped being constantly red and swollen.

And the way he pulled him close when they said their goodbyes and held him for a moment too long, as if he was afraid he would disappear too.

Phil loves them so much it almost seems unfair.

Because Techno would die for him. But he knows Phil would never let him.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

“But he told me that you knew...”

Techno frowns. The soft whispers in suddenly sound a little more aggressive.

“Who? Dream?”

Tommy straightens up suddenly, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of Phil's winter coat.

“Never mind,” he's silent for a moment, staring at his arm. “Okay.”

“'Okay'?”

“Okay. I'll be nicer to Phil. I'll try.

“Oh.”

The buzzing in his head doesn't stop, but Techno loosens its grip on his forearm. Tommy holds his hand just for a moment before letting it go.

Light breeze moves the trees, pushing down some of the snow that has settled on their branches.

“I'm hungry,” Tommy blurts out. “Let's go.”

Phil greets them inside, brushing the snow off Techno's shoulders.

He stretches out his hand uncertainly, then smiles when Tommy lets him ruffle his hair.

It's a small gesture, without their old intimacy and tenderness, and in the evening Tommy still disappears upstairs as soon as Phil sits down at the table to braid Techno's hair, but it still looks like a beginning.

Techno's not sure of what exactly, but definitely something good.


	3. Chapter 3

And that intangible path to their undefined, unknown destination feels long and arduous.

Like a mountain peak, that seems farther and farther away the higher you go, each step you take burning muscles deep underneath your skin - a fire that cannot be extinguished.

However, over time, the ground beneath your feet seems to grow taller, slowly but surely, and finally just looking down at the path you already traveled is enough to keep you going.

***

_'_ _Small steps,' Techno reminds himself._

He looks up from the book on his lap, watching Tommy run his fingers through his hair. It reaches behind his ears and just by looking at them, he can see how damaged they are; some strands strangely dark, as if singed.

Their eyes meet, and Tommy grunts, finally breaking the silence.

“Can you help me with my hair?”

His voice is quiet and uncertain, and Techno raises his eyebrows a little.

When Tommy walked down the stairs five minutes earlier, bare feet on the stone steps (because no matter how many times Phil tried to bargain with him, he still refused to wear socks around the house), settling in an armchair next to the fireplace, nervously gripping the hem of his shirt between his fingers - Techno mentally prepared for many things. But this is definitely not one of them.

“What do you want me to do?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Just cut them. They're annoying.” he says, brushing away a few strands that were falling in his eyes

“Sure.”  
Techno puts the book down on the floor next to the armchair; paper side down, bending the old cover even more.

“Bring scissors. And a towel.”

Tommy winces, but stands up.

Moments later, Techno, now armed with scissors (which are definitely not intended for hairdressing), throws an old towel around his shoulders.

But as Tommy leans forward, letting him comb through his fair hair, he suddenly realizes how strangely familiar it feels.

Fire, softly crackling next to them, warm blanket on his lap, frost covering the windows. Like way back then, when Phil used to trim Tommy's fringe himself, gently pushing back his hair.

Tommy is no longer five years old. But as the first strands falls to the floor, Techno is suddenly flooded with memories of those cold winter evenings, Wilbur's warm hands between his pink hair, softly braiding it.

Tommy shifts slightly and only now he realizes how tense he is. He bites the inside of his cheek.

“'Fables'” Tommy reads the golden lettering on the solid cover and forces a laugh. “You're a big fan of fairy tales?”

Techno rolls his eyes, thankful for the distraction from the bitter nostalgia.

“Fables are not fairy tales. And some of them definitely shouldn't be read to children, Tommy.”

Blond locks fall on his feet.

“Uhm. Whatever you say, Big T.”

“Keep talking like that, and you'll end up bald.”

Tommy bursts out laughing. And whatever he was looking for in this interaction, he clearly found it, because his shoulders relax slightly.

Techno scoops up some hair from his forehead, brushing his fingertips against his cheeks.

_One step forward, one step further up the mountain._

***

Two days later, making his way through the knee-high snow with a sack full of firewood, heavy on his shoulder, he realizes something.

The dark spot he saw from a distance, squinting his eyes in the cold wind, turned out not to be an old tree trunk.

Because the 'dark spot' is definitely alive and definitely not made out of wood.

It's a cow. Very tired, shivering and covered with snow, but definitely a cow.

He stops, more surprised than anything else. The animal stares at him with dark eyes.

His first thought is his old pair of boots, which really could use some extra lather. He immediately dismisses the idea, ignoring the few quiet but aggressive voices in his head.

The second idea is to simply go around her, hoping that she'll find the way back to warmer areas on her own.

But as the wind picks up again, the cow makes a soft noise, her ears twitching from the cold, and Techno catches himself doing the same. He winces slightly, reminded of what Tommy said, crouched over the edge of the hole underneath his basement.

Suddenly his eyes widen a little and a third, definitely less smart and logical thought comes to his mind.

The cow, surprisingly, turns out to be extremely cooperative, when he loosely ties a spare rope around her neck and is an exceptionally good traveling companion, if only for the mere fact that with the exception for soft lows - she doesn't talk

As the icy wind calms down a bit and the faint outline of his house comes into his full view, he begins to realize that maybe this wasn't the best idea.

But it is only when the front door swings open and Phil, who come to meet him, suddenly stops halfway down the stairs, he realizes that it was _definitely_ : not a good idea.

Phil looks at him, then at the animal behind him.

“Techno. What is that?”

Techno turns the rope around in his hand.

“It's a cow,” he replies evasively.

“Well, I can see that,” Phil frowns, still looking more confused than anything else. “But what is it doing here?”

“Currently: just standing.”

Phil sighs as he runs his hand over his face, but Techno is pretty sure he can see a hint of a smile behind it.

“What's going on?”

Tommy leans out the door. He pauses for a moment, his eyes wide open.

And suddenly he's at the bottom of the stairs, jumping over two steps at a time and completely ignoring the “Tommy, goddamn it! Put on your shoes!” Phil yells after him, stopping in front of the cow, carefully examining her.

“You got another fucking cow?”

Techno moves closer, forcing Tommy to keep his bare feet off the stone, back onto the stone steps.

He sighs heavily, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Actually ...” he begins hesitantly

He could still back out. Listen to the few voices (apparently, the only ones with common sense) whispering in his ear that it's not too late. Make an excuse, turn it into a joke.

But when their eyes meet, Techno remembers what made him do this in the first place.

“It's not for me.”

Tommy looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

“It's for you. I thought that ...” He rubs his head with his free hand. “That Bob might use some company. And I also know you like them, that's why... Well, you can call her Clementine. It's a girl. I think.”

There's a silence when he finishes.

The new expression on Tommy's face is harder to read, as he stares into the cow's dark eyes.  
Phil speaks first.

“Aww, Techno,” he chuckles softly.

Techno feels his face turn hot, ears twitching in annoyance ("Clementine" mimics his movements, making Phil burst out laughing).

“It's a practical gift. We'll have fresh milk.”

A warm hand lands on his shoulder and Techno turns back to look at Tommy, who's petting the cow with his free hand, soft but sincere smile on his face.

“Thanks, Big Guy.” he says, and when their eyes meet again, Techno discovers there's no sign of mockery there.

***

_One leg following the other , and suddenly the top on the mountain seems a little bit closer. So Techno clenches his jaw, adjusting his heavy backpack, and reaching out his hand to Tommy._

***

_But sometimes he can't help but feel like every few steps, something's grabbing the back of his shirt pulling him two steps back._

Over the last few years, Techno has almost forgotten what a nightmare it was to wake Tommy up every morning.

When they were younger, his brother had a terrible habit of getting out of bed at six in the morning, regardless of the day of the week, only to run into their fathers room right away, hopping onto his bet with a loud yelp.

He remembers joining him sometimes, watching Phil cover Tommy's head with his wing, pulling him closer, and muttering something into his pillow. He remembers laughing, watching his small hands struggle to push the gray feathers away.

But as time passed - they grew taller and older, Tommy stopped needing to use a stool to reach the kitchen sink, and going to bed at eight o'clock no longer seem reasonable to them.

As Phil put out the last candle, Tommy slipped into their bedroom through the dark hallway, their room full of soft whispers, muffled giggles, and Wilbur's humming.

And that's how he remembered his childhood bedroom. Dark letters on a moonlit paper, Wilbur's hair on his white pillowcase, and Tommy sat on a pillow between their beds.

And the mornings, when it took them ten minutes to wake Tommy up, just enough to send him back into his own bed.

Thinking about those nights, about having them both so close, and actually feeling like they were right there, usually fills him with a bitter sense of loss.

But now, as he leans over his brother and shakes his shoulder, it just feels familiar.

Tommy frowns but doesn't move.

Techno sighs.

Waking him up felt strangely cruel, seeing as he slept through the whole night, completely uninterrupted by nightmares, for the first time in days; dark spots under his eyes now a little paler.

But when Techno looks out the window, the sun is once again covered by dark clouds, and being caught in the middle of a snow storm that will undoubtedly find its way to them sooner or later, is the last thing he wants.

He didn't even realize when their short trips to his makeshift shooting range became part of their routine. Sometimes, Tommy just stared at him over the breakfast table, while Techno tied his bow around his back without a word.

Tommy's aim still left much to be desired, and he clearly didn't have as much strength as he used to, his forearms struggling to pull the bowstring all the way back, but he was making progress. And Techno definitely preferred him to waste his energy on anything that wasn't building a cobblestone tower in his backyard (although he was pretty sure they were just empty promises, he would rather not risk it).

“Get up,” he says, straightening up.

And without hesitating, he grabbed the sheets, dragging them onto the floor in one smooth movement.

Tommy pulls his knees up, hiding his face in the pillow.

“Uh-uhm.”

“Wake up, or...”

He doesn't finish, because suddenly something catches his attention. His ears twitch slightly as he catches the familiar shine in the corner of his eye, but the feeling fades away quickly.

Round, smooth surface of silver ( _NOT gold_ , he realizes with disappointment) glistens in the faint sunlight that momentarily emerges from behind the clouds.

Techno frowns.

“Why are you sleeping with a compass?” He asks, reaching his hand towards it

Suddenly, Tommy sits up, moving away toward the wall, both hands clasped on the metal on his chest.

He stares at him for a moment with wide eyes, breathing fast. Techno lowers his hand.

The panic on Tommy's face quickly changes to anger. Scrunching up his nose, his fingers turn pale.

“Fuck off!”

The buzzing in the head of Techno grows louder, disorientation combined with growing annoyance.

“Easy, mate. I just wanted to know-”

“None of your business,” he interrupts him.

The tips of Tommy's ears turn red, and he pushes himself further into the wall.

“Why-”

“None of your business!” He repeats, louder this time

His voice is shaky, and he's definitely trying to sound more confident than he actually is.

Techno opens his mouth, but then closes it when Tommy adds:

“Listen. I know you have all yours...” he makes a wild gesture with his hand “And you like all that shiny shit, but maybe next time, try not to rob me, okay?”

Techno freezes.

Tommy's words hang in the air like poisonous fumes, settling on his skin, creeping into his lungs. But it only hurts for a moment.

'Cause there's a complete bedlam in his head. Hundreds of voices. One of them whispers a familiar phrase ( _'Blood for the-'_ ). And although it's immediately drowned out by the rest, Techno's hand instinctively reaches towards his belt. Fingers tighten in the air.

The fake smirk on Tommy's face disappears when Techno speaks again.

“Me?! You're the one who-”

He tightens his jaw, forcing himself to be silent. Anger boils under his skin, begging for any way out, but when he speaks, he just sounds hurt.

 _Because he is_ , he realizes.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Fine. Whatever. I can't deal with you today.” He turns away from the bed.

When he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him, he still hears Tommy's _'Good! Piss off!'_.  
That evening, washing away the dirt and ash that settled on his face during the day, he looks at his reflection in the mirror for a moment longer. His ears droop down.

***

He wouldn't say he hated him. Because really, Ghostbur was hard to hate. With his stupid sheep on a leash, always a bit empty but kind eyes and genuinely good intentions.

But his every touch, every look, every word was a painful reminder of that void he would never be able to fill.

Because on that one day, some part of Techno died with Wilbur.

Their shared secrets, the warmth of their clasped hands, the walls of their bedroom childhood. Memories forever covered in soot and ash; pierced by a sword and burning to the touch.

Ghostbur's not his brother. He could talk like him, he could laugh just as much, pushing his hair back the same way.

But it doesn't matter how many times he smiles or hums a familiar melody.

He will never be Wilbur.

So if there was one thing Techno definitely didn't want that gloomy afternoon, it was the sight of the familiar, translucent figure on his porch.

“Ghostbur?” He asks, raising his eyebrows

“Techno!”

And before he's able to move out of the way, the ghost throws its arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Techno grips the door frame tighter, to avoid falling down when a cold shiver passes through his body.

The blue sheep stares at him with dark eyes.

Techno doesn't hug him back. But if Ghostbur is disappointed by this, he doesn't show it. When he pulls back, still holding onto Techno's forearms, his smile is even wider than before.

“Techno! It's so good to see you. I think the last time I saw you was...”

“At my execution?” he sighs

Ghostbur wrinkles his nose, thinking for a moment. There is a strange look on his face that quickly disappears, when he shakes his head.

“Your execution? Why would someone execute you?” He laughs, then passes Techno in the doorway

“Maybe not with the - oh.”

He sighs, watching Friend leave wet hoof marks on his floor.

“I was just in the area, I've been walking around a lot lately. Looking for Tommy because...” he stops mid-sentence, eyes bleary.

He reaches into his pocket, taking out a handful of blue dye, his fingers tightening around it. The color darkens immediately; a few drops fall onto the floor.

He blinks a few times, and a weak smile appears on his face again.

“Tommy's... missing,” he continues. “And well, I was just passing by, but then it started to rain, and you know I can't handle water. But I thought: 'That's fine'. But it wasn't fine because it started to rain harder, and I thought: 'oh no'. And Friend was getting cold, and then I remembered: 'Hey, I think Techno lives somewhere around here'. And you do!”

Techno looks out the window. The wind pushes the snowflakes against the glass, hiding the last rays of the setting sun.

“Yeah, that's great. But listen. Tom-”

“And then I thought” the ghost interrupts him, brushing his hair from his forehead; accidentally dyeing some of them blue “that I haven't seen you in such a long time, I might as well pay a visit. I don't know, it feels like forever since I last saw you. But you never change, Techno...”

He's not entirely sure if it's a compliment or a weird insult, but he doesn't feel like thinking about it too hard.

There is a soft rustling noise from the top of the stone steps. His ears instinctively turn towards the sound.

“You know, we should have a family trip sometime soon, like we used to. Maybe not to the lake, because of all the water... Have I told you that I melt in water?”

“Yeah, you mentioned it,” he mumbles, staring at something above ghost's shoulders.

Ghostbur turns around and gasps.

“Dad!”

Phil's standing on the stairs, with a faint smile on his face.

“Hi.”

And before he can even walk further down, Ghostbur wraps his arms around him, pulling him close.

“Phil! Where have you been? Everyone in L'manburg is looking for you!”

Phil laughs softly, carefully resting his hands his back.

“I'm sure they are. I was right here,” he says

“Oh,” Ghostbur steps back a bit. “This is probably a sign that I should visit Techno more, isn't it?” He puts his hands on Phil's face, studying him for a moment. “You look tired.”

Phil glances at Techno.

“There's a lot to do over here. It's nothing.”

“You can't overwork yourself!”

He lowers his hands and Phil closes his eyes for a moment. His cheeks have blue stains on them.

Techno remembers how after Wilbur's death, their father's hands were always covered in dark, inky dye. His feathers, wrists, hair...

He remembers how during one dinner, Phil leaned over the table, brushing loose hair from his face, leaving pale blue streaks behind his fingertips.

Techno spend three hours trying to wash it off.

He runs his hand over his forearms. Blue ink covers his fingers.

“I can assure you that I'll be fine. Especially now, since-”

He stops, turning around.

The door on the second floor opens with a soft creak. Techno doesn't need to move to know who just stepped into the corridor.

Nevertheless, he quickly passes the sheep, who's still standing in the center of the room, pausing at the foot of the stairs. Tommy, in Techno's old shirt that reaches past his thighs, looks down at them.

They're silent for a moment. The wind outside the window howls.

“Tommy!” Ghostbur breaks the silence, flying up the stairs

He pulls Tommy close, one hand resting on the back of his head.

And suddenly, he seems so small again, with his face hidden in the ghost's shoulder, his clothes way too big.

And for that brief moment, Techno can see Wilbur. Laughing, holding their little brother in his arms.

He looks at Phil.

And he's not sure if he sees the same.

Ghostbur stays way into the night, when the snowfall outside the window thinners out and the fire in the chimney warms up the room even more (mainly because Techno keeps adding wood to it, mainly just to keep his hands busy).

Phil waves him goodbye from the porch, a strange, bitter smile on his lips.

As Tommy grabs the last burning candle, he seems weirdly absent. When he starts climbing the stairs, Techno stops him.

“Everything's okay?”

Tommy stares at the small flame for a moment. Half of his face is hidden in the shadows.

“Yeah,” he replies softly.

And Techno knows that's not true.

He sees it in the way he clutches his hand, digging his nails into the skin. The way he wrinkles his nose for a moment, frowning. How his eyes fog up as he looks at his dirty, blue hands.

He opens her mouth for a moment, then closes it.

 _'Tommy, Tommy, Tom-'_ the voices repeat, their whispers in an endless loop.

Techno knows.

But that he can say is:

“Okay. Good night.”

And Tommy disappears at the top of the stairs.

***

But despite all this, they're still making progress.

Techno knows it, when Tommy looks at him, the candle in his hand illuminating the dark room and murmurs a quiet _'sorry for being a dick'_.

When his eyes look more and more alive every day.

When he laughs like he used to, scooping up more snow into his hands, aiming the snowball at Phil.

When Techno finds him in the basement, stroking Clementine's brown fur with a content smile on his face.

Nightmares still wake him up. Almost every night, Techno emerges from his bedroom with a candle in his hand and exchanges quick glances with Phil.

He watches Tommy, melt into his gray feathers and soft hands, slowly calming down.

But with each passing night, the urge to listen to those quieter, hesitant voices grows stronger.

Slowly, he stands on the shaky bridge they've built on scraps of old trust and some deeper, unknown need.

And that's why, one night, when Tommy wakes up for a moment, still in their father's arms, looking at him and asking:

“Stay?”

he answers:

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Writing about Clementine and Bob was definitely one of the most fun parts of this fic lmao I just really like cows  
> -If you have any questions or just want to chat, you can find me on Tumblr: @alwerakoo :)


	4. Chapter 4

Techno is having a really bad day.

Starting with his burned hand, on which he managed to spill boiling water that morning, his back, still sore from falling asleep on the hard chair in Tommy's bedroom, and ending with his wet socks, because his left shoe has ceased to provide any protection against snow.

So really, it wasn't a surprise that his first reaction at the sight of the tall figure slowly approaching him from the distance, was to put down the brush he was using to clean Carl's dark coat, his fingers tightening on the pickaxe strapped to his belt.

His retirement ended the moment Tommy showed up at his house, and he was going to remind everyone about it.

But as the figure approaches, he slowly relaxes his tense shoulders.

He's wearing way too thin boots, old coat, and is obviously trying not to shiver in the cold. He raises a thin arm, waving at him.

During his stay in the snowy tundra, he met many vagrants. People far away from home or those who never had one, asking for a piece of bread or something warm to drink.

And Techno especially appreciated those visits. Although 'strangers on his property' was definitely not one of his favorite things - apart from a few interesting (and not necessarily true) stories from around the word, the hikers carried heavy backpacks, filled with small treasures. Little crystals and jewelry, that made Phil's smile, his eyes filled with familiar gleam.

And while he didn't quite understand that fondness himself (he was only ever interested in the tiny gold chains that were sometimes attached to them), if something made Phil happy, Techno was ready to bargain for it.

But usually hikers were a bit more adapted to the weather; in puffy coats and vests. And this one looks so miserable that despite his sore back and awful mood, Techno feels a bit sorry for him.

“Uh, hello.”

His voice is shaky and a bit timid, which definitely fits his overall flimsy appearance.

“Hey, if you're looking for the village, you need to go...” he begins, but suddenly stops in the middle of the sentence.

Because when their eyes meet, he realizes how strangely familiar he seems.

His eyes are bright, neon even, glistening in the pale rays of the sun, and the longer he stares at him, the stronger the feeling gets.

“Have we meet before?”

The "Stranger" laughs nervously, fidgeting with his fingers. Even though he's taller than Techno by, he's clearly trying to make himself look as small as possible.

“Actually, I-”

And suddenly it hit him. Lanky body hidden behind Quackity's back, armor crooked, long ears trembling from the cold-

“Wait a minute,” his fingers tighten on the pick handle again. “You were one of those guys that tried to murder me! You son of a bitc-”

“My name's Ranboo” he blurts out, clearly regretting it immediately.

Techno feels his nose wrinkle. He clenches his free hand into a fist.

“So listen here, _Ranbob_ : Get off my property.”

Carl's ears turn towards them.

And although Techno really wants to be angry at this point, the only thing he feels is annoyance.

Ranboo looks so pathetic, like one strong wind blow would knock him out of his feet, and his hands are shaking so badly he probably wouldn't even be able to hold up a weapon. And then he realizes that he doesn't even have any weapon with him, except for a strange, white bundle on his back, which he's not even reaching for.

 _'He's just a kid,'_ a quiet voice whispers.

In that old coat, amid snow and ice, Ranboo looks especially young and out of place.

“Listen, kid. I have a rule against beating children. But mostly it applies to family, so I would advise you get the fuck out.”

For a moment, Ranboo looks like he's really tempted to follow this advice. But ultimately, he straightens up a bit, looking just as terrified but also weirdly determined.

“I came to apologize.”

Techno raises his eyebrows.

“Apologize?”

“For this whole... You know, _'Butcher Army'_ thing? It wasn't even my idea! Quackity came up with it, and I just...” he sighs.

He lowers one shoulder, pulling the strange bundle off his back. But as he pulls the white fabric apart, a pale purple shine falls on the snow and Techno's face.

“Your axe,” says Ranboo, but Techno instantly recognizes the familiar wood, metal, and remnants of old blood. “I don't know where the rest of your stuff is now, but... At least I can give this back to you. Take it as an apology gift.”

Techno allows to him to place the axe in his outstretched hands and runs his fingers lovingly over the sharp end.

“I really didn't want to be there. But it was just...” he sighs softly. “A lot of peer pressure.”

Ranboo shifts nervously from foot to foot.

And suddenly, Techno realizes that a small part of him... understands.

He remembers the weight of the crossbow in his hands, the deafening bang, the colorful explosions and warm blood on his face. Eyes staring at the back of his head, monitoring his every move, voices in his head drowning out thoughts-

He closes his eyes for a moment.

“Okay,” he says, and Ranboo's looks genuinely surprised.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I accept.”

Ranboo opens his mouth to speak, but Techno immediately cuts him off.

“The gift. Not your apology. Get off my property.”

Because despite how strangely vulnerable he seems, Techno suddenly remembers his sore back, burned hand and how much he doesn't have the strength to deal with this shit.

“O-oh. Yeah, I'm sorry. I will-”

Techno's ears shift towards the sound before his brain even fully registers it.

Tommy stands in the doorway behind him, a bowl of steaming soup in his hands, looking at Ranboo with his eyes wide open.

There is a moment of silence, interrupted only by Carl's soft snots.

And suddenly, a surprised but wide smile appears on Tommy's face.

“Ranboo!”

Techno winces slightly, as the soup that was probably his dinner falls out of his hand and into the cold snow.

“Tommy?! You're alive?”

Tommy quickly comes up to the other boy, his hand tightening around forearm.

“Yes! I never- Fuck, you don't even know how good it is to see you, Big Man.”

But maybe he knows, because when the initial shock wears off, Ranboo grins.

“I have so much to tell you!” he turns around, shooting Techno a glance. “Let's go inside, I need to-”

“No fucking way!”

If there's one thing Techno wants the least at this point, it's another lanky teenager under his roof.

So when ten minutes later, Ranboo is seated at their table, cup of hot tea in his hands, Techno quickly begins to regret all the decisions that led him up to this moment.

Mumbling a few curses under his nose, he sits in the corner of the room, pretending to be very busy withe cleaning his axe, listening to their conversation.

Which changes surprisingly quickly: from the weather, to how depressing L'manburg had become lately, to what was actually happening with Tommy over the past month and a half.

Though the atmosphere seems pleasant and relaxed, Techno glances regretfully at the clock every now and then, counting down minutes to when Phil's will be back from the nearby village.

“I even bought nice flowers for your funeral...” Ranboo sighs, stirring his leftover tea

Tommy laughs, but there's a hint of bitterness in it.

“Well, Then i guess I can almost forgive you that you stopped to writing me letters.”

Ranboo frowns as Techno looks up at them.

“I didn't? You stopped replying.”

“What?” There is a visible confusion on Tommy's face. “But Dream said that-”

He stops mid-word, and his gaze suddenly hazy and absent. His shoulders stiffen.

“You were allowed to write him letters?”

Techno and Ranboo lock eyes.

“Anyway...” Ranboo clears his throat, clearly trying to change the subject.

Techno is really tempted to say 'no', he really wants to talk about this right now and maybe make it all make sense for once-

But Ranboo continues talking, and when he opens his mouth it feels like he can't close it anymore.

“Again, I'm sorry for all that 'killing you' stuff. It was Quackity's plan, I told his I didn't like it... But Tubbo liked the idea too and tried to talk me into-”

“Tubbo?” Tommy looks up, suddenly fully present again “What does Tubbo have to do with this?”

Ranboo scowls.

“Tubbo was in The Butcher Army.”

Techno curses under his breath, but Tommy is already standing up from his chair. He turns to face him.

“Techno? Tubbo was in The Butcher Army?”

His gaze shift's from his brother to Ranboo (who seems just as panicked and confused as he is).

“Uhm. Yes.”

Tommy wrinkles his nose, his fingers griping on the edge of the table.

“Then why the fuck didn't you tell me?!”

Techno feels himself standing up.

“Because I thought it wasn't important.”

“What do you mean?! You know Tubbo is my best friend! And maybe I should know that-”

“What, that he tried to kill me?” He snaps

Tommy's face changes for a split second, but it's hard to read.

Ranboo gets up from his seat, almost falling over his chair.

“I should go.”

“You should” Techno growls. “Oh, and tell my nephew he can kiss my ass when you meet him.”

Ranboo steps back towards the door, but Techno gestures at him to stop, trying to ignore the way Tommy flinches.

“And don't tell anyone you were here.”

He opens his mouth for a moment as if to protest. But he changes his mind immediately, nodding reluctantly.

The door opens and shuts close; several snowflakes fall on the wooden floor.

Neither of them says anything for a moment. Tommy seems to be fuming with anger, as the voices in Techno's head grow louder.

“You know why I didn't tell you about Tubbo?” His voice is calm, but his hands are shaking slightly. “Because I knew, that if I told you, you would side with him again.”

Tommy takes a deep breath.

“Not true.”

Techno raises his eyebrows.

“Isn't it?”

And he tries hard, not to let any of his real hurt and bitterness show up, from behind that mask of anger and confidence. That gut feeling, that no matter what he did, Tommy would always put Tubbo before him. That he would always remain the antagonist in their story, with his blood on his face.

And he tried very hard to ignore the soft whispers, telling him that he deserves it.

Tommy doesn't say anything else. He turns around and climbs up the stairs, his bare feet jumping over two steps at a time.

And when Phil comes home an hour later, with a handful of carrots and a tiny, golden curb in his pocket, he finds Techno sitting at the table, face hidden in his hands.

“I don't know,” he whispers as his father crouches down in front of him, brushing away loose strands of hair from his forehead. “I don't know what to do, Phil.”

***

That night, the sky is cloudless, filled with stars.

Techno had already noticed this from his bedroom window, but after hours of turning around on his bed, trying to fall asleep, the idea of seeing them up close sounded very appealing.

Light, cold breeze ruffles his hair, and Techno pulls his cape tighter. The trapdoor closes with a soft creak.

When he was younger, Phil tried to teach him astronomy. But no matter how many times he traced all sorts of shapes in the sky with his fingers, trying to illustrate them better, Techno still saw only bright dots.

Very pretty dots, but nothing more.

Even now, he can only locate the North Star. It shines bright, confident in its importance.

Techno wraps his arms around his legs, resting his chin on his knees.

He doesn't realize how long he sits there. The chilly air pinches his ears, but feels nice and cool on his face, so he lets himself sink into that feeling in silence; the quiet hum in his head falling in the back of his consciousness.

The silence is interrupted by a soft creak and Techno turns quickly, ears twitching.

Tommy looks at him through the trapdoor in the ceiling, one hand gripping the ladder.

“Got any space for one more?” he asks

But he's clearly not waiting for an answer, as he's already climbing up; Techno moves aside.

Tommy sits down next to him, and they don't say anything for a moment. Techno tilts his head back; pale moonlight shines on his face.

“Cold as fuck, ain't it?” Tommy says and Techno laughs.

That strange, awkward atmosphere between them fades away, along with any traces of their previous anger.

“Maybe that's because you're not wearing socks, genius.”

Tommy smiles.

“Touché.” His face suddenly turns serious, glancing at Techno. “Listen, I-”

Techno dismisses him, flicking his hand.

“It's fine. Don't worry about it.”

Tommy looks ahead for a moment. He was always much better at identifying constellations than he was. Techno wonders if he sees something in this sky, that he can't.

“I want to show you something,” he says firmly.

His hand reaches behind the collar of his shirt. Silver compass shines in the moonlight.

“Your compass?” he asks, feeling a bit lost.

It points ahead, toward the bright North Star. He realizes that the device only has one arrow.

“Ghostbur gave it to me,” Tommy explains, turning the compass in his hand and staring at the still arrow. “He said it's pointing to Tubbo, no matter where he is.”

“That's why it's so important to you?” he asks.

Tommy nods.

They're silent for a moment, but Tommy frowns and pressing his lips together as if trying to find the right words. Techno doesn't rush him.

“Tubbo,” he says finally, “is my best friend.”

“I know.”

He looks at him, but Tommy continues to stare straight ahead.

“After the festival” Techno winces at the memory. “I was really mad at you. Because for a moment... He was gone.”

He pauses. The moon casts a pale light on his fair hair.

“I love Tubbo,” he adds. “And that's why I took his side.”

And suddenly, when Techno looks at him, Tommy is just his brother. Not a hero, who need to learn a lesson, not his enemy, not a traitor.

He always was.

And no city, dictator or crossbow could change that.

And maybe, that small part of Techno, surrounded in layers of bitterness and regret, realizes that he already forgave him.

“I understand.” And this time, he really means it.

Tommy still doesn't look at him, but his face softens.

“But what he did was wrong. I know that. ” He suddenly turns and their eyes meet. “And if you thought I don't, then you're a fucking dumbass.”

Techno laughs.

“You're right,” he admits. “Maybe I should have more faith in you.”

The arrow on Tommy's compass hand moves slightly.

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

He doesn't know what he really means.

The festival, the withers, how he screamed in his face to _'die like a hero'_. All of that turns into one, bitter mush that settles heavily on his heart, and he can't shake it off. He regrets every part of it.

Tommy looks at him and smiles.

“Maybe.”

It is not a _'yes'_ , much less a promise. But it is not a _'no'_.

And Techno will hold onto that _'maybe'_ as long as he can.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments, I really appreciate them <3
> 
> Here, have this: *hands you angst*

It slowly becomes part of their routine.

Through a dark corridor (sometimes only lit by the pale glow of the oil lamp, so that no light can slip under Phil's bedroom door), Techno finds his way to a wooden ladder, and the roof greets him with a cold breeze.

Sometimes the sky is completely covered by clouds; heavy and dark, announcing an incoming snowstorm.

Sometimes the stars shine even brighter than normally, glistening like snow flecks in the morning sun.

Tommy waits for him, legs stretched on the rooftop, smirking, complaining about him 'being late'.

It feels normal. Natural.

Tommy, in new clothes that Phil was finally able to make fit his still slender but now much healthier body, with a blue cape on his shoulders, it's fluffy hood stroking his red cheeks - is definitely not the same Tommy he had to drag up the stairs of his home a few months ago.

And in those quiet moments, under the stars and in the cold wind, Techno looks down and realizes how far they've come.

He doesn't flinch at their every movement anymore, laughs just like as he used to, and can use a bow pretty well.

Tommy sits down, pursing his lips and frowning, and just talks. And Techno wonders if it's always been as simple as that.

Sometimes it's seemingly pointless stories, and he never hears the punch line before Tommy's eyes begin to close, every word interrupted by a yawn, until Techno reminds him that even he needs to sleep.

Strange anecdotes, unrealistic plans for the future that he once had with Tubbo, their stupid attempts to start their own business (and not necessarily legal one).

Techno joins him sometimes, adding his own stories he heard from vagrants, which he's almost certain are not actually true. But Tommy likes to hear about nameless distant kingdoms, faceless kings and their travels to the edge of the world.

There's something familiar about them, something safe; like the stories Phil used to tell them before bed when they were little, stroking their hair.

Stories in which there was always a good and a bad side. And it was clear from the beginning, who would win.

Techno's still not sure what role he's playing in his own fairy tale.

“I miss Tubbo” he hears one night.

Techno turns toward him, but Tommy continues to stare straight ahead.

“And I miss Fundy.”

Techno sighs, tilting his head back. The moon is almost completely covered by clouds, leaving them in darkness.

“Me too.”

And it's not even a lie.

He doesn't miss the man, who tied his hands behind his back. The man who led him to his execution, but not having the courage to look him in the eyes. The man who laughed, when Quackity told him: 'animals don't talk'.

But he misses the little boy he once carried in his arms

Tommy doesn't really talk about his exile.

Moving beyond their safe space in history, when there was still a happy ending, still seems to be dangerous. As if any wrong move could break that thin thread of mutual understanding they found.

But when he does mention it – it's one of the strange days, when his eyes seem hazy and absent, and he eventually falls silent for the rest of the night, only to wake up screaming hours later, burying his face in their father's arms.

“Dream let me use his trident once,” he blurts out one night, turning his compass in his hands.

Techno raises his eyebrows.

“When I was... In Logsted. He came to visit me one day, and it was raining. So he let me use it.”

“That's... Nice?”

“Yeah. It was cool.” he sighs softly.

And he stayed quiet for the rest of that night.

Dream appears to be a particularly sensitive topic.

He shows up rarely in their conversations, mostly in short, weird anecdotes, but each time Techno can't get over the feeling, that they're hiding a bigger picture, that he can't yet see.

_'Dream gave me armor once.'_

_'Dream was always visiting to make sure I was okay.'_

_'Dream helped me organize a party once.'_

Techno feels those small pieces of the puzzle fall into his hand, but no matter how long he stares at them, they merge into meaningless shapes and splashes of colors.

A couple of weeks pass, and he really has no idea what finally made Tommy decide to lean over his shoulder, showing him that he was looking at it all the wrong way this entire time.

Because that day starts quite normal.

Maybe except for the fact, that Tommy seems strangely distant in the morning, nervously biting his nails during breakfast. Phil gives Techno a weird look.

During their training, the arrow keeps falling off his bowstring, he's almost tripping over his own legs on the way back, and during dinner, he just tosses the food around on his plate for ten minutes.

But after all, it's nothing that Techno couldn't already count as one of his 'quiet days'. When he closes himself off, gazing at the stars in silence for a long time in the evening.

So when he goes up on the roof that night and Tommy greets him with a clearly forced smile, he thinks he knows what to expect.

Securing the oil lamp on cold tiles, he tilts her head back. The sky is cloudless and bright, the full moon reflected on the heated glass.

At first, he doesn't even notice when Tommy turns to face him. His ears instinctively shift towards a soft rustling, he only realizes when he hears a quiet:

“Techno?”

He shudders, looking away from the sky.

He raises an eyebrow, but it takes a moment for Tommy to speak again; his hands clenched around the silver compass underneath his shirt.

“What's your opinion on Dream?”

Techno frowns.

“Huh?”

“Like, I don't know...” He hugs his legs, resting his cheek on his knee. “Are you friends or something?”

Techno grunts as he thinks about his answer.

 _'No'_ , seems oddly harsh and definitely ungrateful. Because he can say a lot abut Dream, but he still remembered how he pressed Carl's harness into his blood-stained hands. _'You owe me double now,'_ he laughed. And Techno always keeps his promises.

But _'Yes'_ was simply untrue.

“I don't trust him,” he says finally.

Tommy laughs.

“You don't trust anyone.”

“You know that's not true.”

A slight smile appears on Tommy's face, but it quickly fades away.

“Uhm. That's cool. Because we are friends. I mean we aren't. I mean-”

He sighs as he rests his forehead on his knees. Techno gives him a moment, but when he realizes that he clearly has no intention of moving, he asks:

“So, are you friends or not?”

“No,” he says firmly, putting his head up, but then doubt appears on his face once again. “I mean... You know, he used to visit me a lot when... When I was living in Logsted.”

“Yeah, you mentioned it.” He's not entirely sure where this conversation is going.

Chill wind sweeps a few loose hairs off his face.

“Well, it was nice to have some company. Even if he was being a dick.”

“Yeah, that's really in his style,” he snorts, giving him a small smile.

Tommy shrugs. But when he speaks again, the voice is soft and weak, fingers tightly gripping the blue fabric around his shoulders.

“Sometimes... Sometimes he would take away my armor and weapons, even when I worked hard for them. I really did! And I never once stole anything! Cause there was nowhere to steal from, but you get the point.”

The smile disappears from the Techno face. He opens his mouth to say something, but Tommy keeps talking, his fingers pale.

“And he made him throw everything on the ground and then blew it up. And there was always smoke everywhere and it was so loud. But if I didn't do it he would...”

“He would what?” He whispers, his throat tight

Tommy pauses for a moment, then turns to meet his eyes.

“I'm not gonna say it,” he forces a laugh.

And although the dark bruise on his face has healed a long time ago, Techno realizes that he already knows the answer.

“But he did _that_ often. I mean... You know,” he makes a weird gesture with his hand, and Techno's heart is beating fast. “Sometimes for no reason. I mean, he always had a reason, but... I don't know, maybe I'm just too stupid to understand.”

His voice breaks a little.

“And he said that he's the only one who cares about me. That he wants the best for me and that I need to learn 'the hard way', but I don't know if that's true, because Phil never... And then he said that we're friends... I'm not sure if that's what friends do.”

The soft light from the lamp is reflecting in his wet eyes.

“And we used to go to Nether together sometimes, but Dream always made me take my shoes off so that I could 'toughen up' or something. But everything is so hot in there... And sometimes... Techno.”

He looks away, his voice shaky.

“ _Sometimes_ I just stood there, looking down at the lava. And it was so easy to believe him. That nobody visits me because they don't care anymore. And that all of this was my fault, and that I deserved it all, and that he's right, and that I'd be better if I just... _If I_...”

He takes a deep breath, then clenches his jaw, staring down at his hands.

Techno reaches out, grasping his forearms.

“Tommy,” though his hands are still trembling, his voice is steady and clam. “Tommy, look at me.”

Tommy's eyes are full of tears, but he sniffs slightly, still clearly trying to hide it.

“Now listen to me carefully. I know neither of us say it as often as we should,” his tightens his grim, grounding them both in reality. “But I love you. You don't even know, how much.”

Tommy gives him a weak smile.

“I know.”

Techno pulls him close, their foreheads touching.

Tommy feels cold but familiar, and then he sniffs again, falling deeper into his arms and burying his face on his shoulder. His hands tighten on the back of his shirt.

His shoulders tremble and Techno just holds him closer.

***

An hour later, Techno leaves him in his bedroom, pulling the sheets over his shoulders. Tommy mumbles a soft _'goodnight'_ , as he wipes his wet face on the pillow.

Techno looks into the room a couple of minutes later, just for a moment, staring at the blond hair scattered on the pillow, listening to his steady breathing.

He silently closes the door behind him.

His fingers grip tighter on his axe.

Snow creaks under his boots. Cold breeze caresses his face, but Techno doesn't even dare to look up at the stars.

When he reaches the edge of the forest, he rests his hand on the trunk of the nearest tree, panting.

When he was little, Phil always said he was smart.

It didn't matter, if it was about calligraphy, mathematics, or even just tying his shoes. His father looked at him with the same pride in his eyes, and ruffled his hair.

Now, he realizes that Phil may have been too quick to judge his abilities, focusing only on simple activities. How even his letters were or how quickly he could add numbers.

Because it's all useless.

What matters now, is how Tommy flinched at any sudden movement. How sometimes he stared at the kitchen knife a second too long. How he woke up screaming every night.

Techno had all those pieces of the puzzle in front of him, and for some reason, he never thought that maybe he was looking at it all wrong.

His fingers tighten on the axe when he swings it.

Techno is not _'smart'_. He's a fucking fool.

Tree branches shudder with the first hit; several layers of snow fall down.

The noise in his head is constant, drilling one, continuous thought into his brain.

His fingers are on fire and numb all at once.

“ _Dream_ ,” he mutters under his breath, swinging the axe again.

***

When he walks through the front door again, the first rays of the morning sun are already shining through the frosted windows.

He takes off his cloak in one, quick motion, but when he turns to face the stairs, he suddenly freezes.

Phil, sitting on one of the stone steps, steaming mug of tea in hand, stares at him frowning.

“I went to check on you at night, but you weren't there.”

He says calmly but with a distinct relief in his voice, and Techno feels his hands begin to tremble again. The axe moves in his loose grip; the sharp edge slams hard against the floor.

“What happened?”

Phil slides down.

And Techno knows lying would be easy.

He could say it's nothing. Blame it on the voices still ringing in his ears and walk up the stairs without looking back.

Say that he couldn't sleep, went hunting, they ran out of wood.

And maybe he should.

But before he can say anything, Phil reaches out to him.

Something in Techno finally breaks.

Clinging to his father's hand, so tightly it slowly pales in his grasp, he tells him everything. And this time, Phil is the one listening.

He talks about Tommy, bruises on his cheeks, scarred hands, skinny wrists. How sometimes he stares at fire for a moment too long, and how it all makes sense now.

About Dream and how much he wanted to murder him right now. Slit his throat, break his neck, stab him with a sword-

The voices want blood and he doesn't know how to silence them.

Suddenly he notices his knuckles are bleeding, staining Phil's pale skin. He doesn't remember hitting anything.

“I'm scared,” he whispers. “I'm scared, I'm gonna lose him too.”

When he falls silent again, he doesn't look up from their palms. A warm hand falls on his back, pulling him closer.

He's taller, but he stoops down and Phil rests his face on top of his head.

“Go to sleep,” he says softly, reassuringly, just like when Techno was still a kid, and his father's gentle words were like a shield, protecting him from the world. “You look tired.”


	6. Chapter 6

That same afternoon, Phil is waiting for him, sitting at the table.

“Tommy is mad,” he announces, holding his empty cup in his hands.

Techno sighs quietly.

His face is still sleepy, his back sore, his hands blistered, his knuckles still have traces of dried blood on them, and although the sun is already high on the cloudless sky, it still feels strangely too early.

“Why?” he asks, taking the seat next to his father.

His sleepiness lays deep under his skin, painting dark spots under his eyes. His ears twist back lazily, dropping low.

Phil's presence fills him with a strange calmness, even when he looks at him with an unreadable expression.

“I came to his room in the morning. And I told him, that if something happens again, he always has me and I will always listen. That if he ever wanted to...” he stops for a moment, eyes dark. “You know. Then he should tell me. But maybe it wasn't a good idea...”

Techno waits for a while, but Phil is silent as he slides his singers across the smooth surface of the cup.

“How come?”

Phil sighs, burying his face in his hands.

“He told me to get the fuck out.”

And Techno suddenly feels much more alive, straightening up and staring at his father with wide eyes.

“And he told me to tell you,” he raises his head, sighing again. “To fuck off too.”

“Well, that definitely sounds like Tommy.” He forces a laugh. “He'll get over it.”

But this time, he's clearly wrong.

Because Tommy doesn't leave his room for the rest of the day.

Phil knocks on his door every hour, and while all he gets in return is a 'Piss off!', he looks almost relived every time.

“Give him time,” Phil says, braiding his hair. “Maybe he needs to be alone for a while.”

Techno doesn't want to give him time.

Because with every passing hour, he gets angrier and angrier, and he's not even sure why.

That fragile bridge they built together seems to fall apart underneath their feet, and Techno just doesn't get it.

He doesn't understand why Tommy ignores them, why he's angry, why he doesn't let Techno pull him close and never let go again, like he did last night.

And he doesn't understand why it makes him so angry.

When Tommy finally leaves his room, late in the night, he's clearly not happy about it.

The fireplace illuminates his face, and Techno quickly notices that his eyes are red and puffy.

Phil rises from his chair, pushing his book aside, but the boy passes him without a word, heading straight towards their makeshift kitchen.

Neither of them speaks, as he fills his bowl with the leftover soup.

But when he turns towards the stairs, Techno snaps:

“Are you done?”

Tommy freezes, one hand resting on the wooden table-top.

“Am I done _what_?”

His voice is hoarse, and Techno has no doubts that he was crying. Even so, he can't stop his irritation from spilling into his words.

“Are you done being mad?”

Tommy looks over at him. His eyes shine in the soft candlelight, but his fingers turn pale as he clenches his free hand at his side.

“No,” he snarls. “I'm not done. Don't talk to me.”

Techno stands up and Tommy scrunches up his nose.

“I'll talk when I want to. And you'll tell me: what the fuck is going on.”

Tommy inhales sharply.

“What do you mean 'what is going on'!?” he yells. “Fucking guess, genius!”

Techno shoes pound against the wooden floor, and as he stands in front of Tommy, the voices in his head slowly getting louder.

They're both silent for a moment, staring at each other. Techno crosses his arms.

“Tommy,” he starts again, a little softer. “What happened?”

But suddenly something in Tommy's face changes and his eyes are wet again. His lip quivers.

“You told Phil,” he whispers, then screams again. “You told Phil! How could you?!”

Techno frowns. His hands fall to his sides.

“What?”

“About everything! About Logsted, about Dream, about _me_ , about...”

He stops. He's breathing fast, tears falling down his cheeks.

Techno shots Phil a quick look. He's standing next to the armchair, shifting her gaze between his two sons, his face unreadable.

“Tommy... But it's just Phil,” he says quietly, trying to mimic the familiar, calming tone of their father's voice.

And apparently - he's not very good at it.

Because Tommy winces and his shoulders are shaking with anger. The hand still gripping the bowl trembles slightly.

“It's not 'just Phil', asshole! I thought I could trust you! You said I could trust you!”

It sounds desperate and helpless. A few whispers make him want to pull Tommy close, hold him tightly in his arms. Techno tries to ignore them.

“Tommy, please. You're being hysterical-”

“I'm not hysterical!”  
  
His one hand falls on his forearm, nails digging into his pale skin.

“Stop it.”

Techno reaches out, but Tommy pulls away.

“Don't fucking touch me!”

“Tommy-”

“Leave me alone!”

The wooden bowl bounces on the table-top with a loud bang. Hot soup spills on the floor.

There's silence. Tommy gasps, staring at the empty dish in his hands.

He allows it to hit the floor with a clang.

“I hate you! I hate you both!”

And before anyone can say anything, he's already halfway up the stairs.

As the door upstairs closes, Phil falls into his armchair, face in his hands.

Hot liquid reaches the tip of Techno's shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but we're close to the end!


End file.
